How the Slats Stole the Rangers

Every fan
At The Garden
Like the Rangers a lot...

But the Slats
Who lived northwest of The Garden
Did NOT!

The Slats hated the Rangers! The whole Rangers season!
Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be he was jealous of their gold and their green.
It could be he was bitter that they bought his old team.
But I think the most likely reason could be
That we benched him and dumped him back in ’73.

But,
Whatever the reason,
His name or his dues,
He cast scorn on the Rangers, hating their blues.
Staring down from his cabin in backwoods Alberta,
His heart full of hatred, his eyes full of murder,
For he knew every fan down at ol’ MSG
Was ready to cheer with Stanley Cup glee.

“And they’re hanging their banners!” he snarled with a sneer.
“They’re drafting top players! It’s practically here!”
Then he growled, with his cold finger nervously drumming,
“I MUST find a way to keep their playoffs from coming!”
For, tomorrow, he knew...

...All the fans, far and near
Would stand in the aisles. They’d hold up their beers
And then! Oh, the cheer! Oh, the cheer! Cheer! Cheer! Cheer!
That’s one thing he hated! The CHEER! CHEER! CHEER! CHEER!

Then the fans, young and old, would sit down to a feast.
And they’d feast! And they’d feast!
And they’d FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!
They would have a parade, they would march through the streets
Which was something that Slats couldn’t stand in the least!

And THEN
They’d do something he liked least of all!
Every fan at the Garden, the tall and the small,
Would stand close together, with arms locked and feet tapping.
They’d stand side-by-side. And their hands would start clapping!

They’d clap! And they’d clap!
AND they’d CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!
And the more Slats thought of the Garden’s proud clap
The more that Slats thought, “I must stop all of this crap!”
“Why for seventy-three years I’ve put up with it now!
"I MUST stop the playoffs from coming!
"...But HOW?”

Then he got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE SLATS
GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

“I know just what to do!” Slats chomped a cigar.
And he packed up his bags and jumped in his car.
And he chuckled, and clucked, “Could this be any sweeter!”
“With my Hall of Fame creds, I’ll become their new leader!”

“All I need is a scapegoat...”
Slats looked around.
But since scapegoats are rare, there was none to be found.
Did that stop old Slats...?
No! Slats simply said,
“If I can’t find a scapegoat, I’ll make one instead!”
So he called up Ron Low. And he took up some thread.
And he tied a big walkie-talkie to the side of his head.

You WILL play Messier 20 minutes every night!

THEN
He signed a few rags
And a useless old sack
And with Igor and Karpa
Hitched to Messier’s back

The Slats said, “Giddyap!”
And down the standings they flew
Past Pittsburgh and Jersey
And the Islanders too.

The Garden’s windows grew empty, boos filled the air.
All the fans were left puzzled, some looked without care.
Empty seats became the norm at Madison Square.
“This won’t happen again,” the wily GM said with a hiss.
And he called Eric Lindros, dollars bills in his fist.

And he spent millions so freely, for him quite a task.
But if Neil Smith could do it, why couldn’t Slats?
He broke up the Czechmates without even a sniff,
Call Brendl a fat-ass, Malhotra a stiff.
“Our defense is shoddy and our farm system meager.
But don’t worry, I just signed Zdeno Ciger.”

He traded our grinders, our scrappers, our toilers.
He dumped all our prospects and replaced them with Oilers.
He traded for Rocket, for Poti, for Murray.
He promised more playoffs. “We’ll make it, don’t worry.”
He cast out Mike York: our pride and our glory.
And when April was barren, he blamed Theo Fleury.

Then he slunk to the cash vaults. He took MSG dollars!
He bought a Holik! Gave Kasper a holler!
He cleaned out the coffers as quick as a flash.
“Sure, I’d like a Mike Grier, but I’m all out of cash.”

Then he smiled with wry glee, with no more to poach.
“And NOW!” grinned Slats, “Now I’ll hire a coach!”

And he hired his coach, the most hated of men
Then he sat back to laugh, perched up in his den.
But behind him a noise, from vision unseen.
It was young Daniel Blackburn, who was only 19.

Slats had been caught by the youngest team member
Richter’s teen protégé and future goaltender.
He stared at old Slats and said, “Mr. Slats, why,
“Why are you ruining the Rangers? WHY?”

But, you know, that old Slats was so smart and so slick
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
“My, my young Danny Boy,” the mean old Slats lied,
“We’re building a future here, one full of pride.
“We’re planning and saving and developing picks.
“At this rate we’ll be competitive by 2006.”

And his fib fooled the kid. Then he allayed all his fears.
And promised him he’ll be a Ranger for many more years.
And when young Danny left, a bright tear in his eye,
Slats traded him fast for Luc Robitaille!

Then he packed up the jerseys, the trophies, the banners.
He looted The Garden of all it’s fine manners.
Then in a flash he himself was gone, the old liar.
On the rafters he left nothing but hooks, and some wire.

And the one thing he left
In Jim Dolan’s house
Was Radek Dvorak, less a player, more a mouse.

Then
He did the same thing
The past GM did

Blaming fans
“Too impatient!
“Who they trying to kid?”

It was 2003…
All the fans, chased away
All the fans, left befuddled
After Slats had his way.
The prospects were gone! The Klouceks! The Yorks!
Nothing was left but some waiver-bait dorks!

Back in Banff, western Canada, Slats planned to retire.
The Rangers were finished, as if consumed in a fire.
“Screw those fans!” he was Slat-ish-ly humming.
“I have their money, there’s no Stanley Cup coming!”
“They’re just realizing now! I know just what they’ll do!”
“They’ll ask for more players, maybe one, maybe two.
“And all the loyal fans on Broadway will all cry BOO-HOO!”

That’s a noise,” grinned old Slats,
“That I simply must hear!”
So he paused. And Slats put a hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the woe.
It started in low. Then it started to grow…

But the sound wasn’t sad!
Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn’t be so!
But it WAS merry! VERY!

He stared down at Broadway!
Slats clawed at his eyes!
Then he shook!
What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every fan at The Garden, the tall and the small,
Was clapping! Was cheering! They weren’t booing at all!
He HADN’T stopped fans from coming!
THE CLOWN!
The Rangers still stunk, but they’re the best game in town!

And Slats, smug and cocky, his heart soiled and rainy,
Stood puzzled and weary: “They hired Bob Gainey?
My plan was so perfect! Their team is in ruin!
I cut Petrovicky, made Lundmark a Bruin!
They’re saddled with debt, their farm is a joke.
Brian Leetch is retired, Mark Messier croaked!”
Slats puzzled for hours, ‘till his puzzler was sore.
Then Slats thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe Ranger fans,” he thought, “Don’t care, win or lose.
“Maybe they come for the hockey, for the cheers, for the boos!”

And what happened then…?
Well…on Broadway they say
That Slats untarnished reputation
Shrunk ten sizes that day!
And the Hall of Fame called and revoked all his standing,
And the media followed with a firm reprimanding!
And he covered his eyes, his face riddled with shame!
For he…

…HE HIMSELF…!
Old Slats was to blame!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

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